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“Do you ever want to get dinner?”
Mycroft paused midway through his sip of tea, something akin to confusion rising to the surface.
“Pardon?”
Greg stepped forward and centered himself in front of Mycroft’s desk.
“Dinner. You and me.”
Mycroft’s head inclined slightly to the right, a puzzled furrow to his brow. “I seem to recall us doing that just last week.”
“No, no,” said Greg, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, I want to take you to dinner.”
Mycroft stared up at him for a few seconds, the mental wheels whirring behind his blank expression. Then he noticed his teacup had been hovering in front of his chin for far longer than necessary. He quickly lowered it to the matching saucer with a soft clink.
“Forgive me, but are you asking me on a date?”
Oddly enough, Greg felt his fluttering nerves settle somewhat from that question. He appreciated Mycroft cutting straight to the heart of the matter. The man was a master of talking around people’s heads, infuriatingly so at times. But he also exercised a particular brand of directness that, when compared to the barbs that Sherlock flung out, Greg actually found refreshing.
“Yeah. I am.”
Mycroft’s eyes widened just a fraction. It would have been barely noticeable to most people, but Greg had grown rather adept at picking out those subtle indicators of Mycroft’s mood. He also took note of how Mycroft had leaned forward in his chair, the full weight of his focus on Greg.
“This is rather unexpected, Detective Inspector.”
Greg didn’t hide his crooked smirk. “Come on. You probably sussed out that I was interested right from the start, didn’t you?”
Wryness crept into Mycroft’s features.
“Astute. Very well, I’ll admit that I was not ignorant of your interest. That it lasted this long is something of a surprise, however.” Mycroft sounded as nonchalant as ever, but for some reason that flippant attitude wasn’t coming off as effortlessly as it should have. It seemed a little too controlled, even for him.
“What, you thought I’d change my mind?” asked Greg, curiosity spurring him to dig a bit more directly than he normally would have.
“It seemed like the most probable outcome. Surely after five years you’re aware that I’m not often the most pleasant of individuals.”
“Is that some roundabout way of saying you can be a prat?” Greg said with a playful wink.
Mycroft huffed an indignant breath through his nose. But Greg caught the glimmer of amusement in his eyes.
“If you like, Detective Inspector.”
“Greg.” He smiled at how Mycroft’s eyebrow lifted in that familiar, questioning manner. “Just saying. You never seem to remember to call me that.”
Rather than humor from the gentle ribbing, a lightning flash of uneasiness filtered through Mycroft’s demeanor. He looked down, absentmindedly fiddling with his hands before clasping them over his lap.
“I’m flattered,” Mycroft said, his voice more subdued than usual. “Truly I am. But I think it best not to change the way things are between us.”
“Oh.” The disappointment stung more than Greg had expected. He hoped it wasn’t completely obvious on his face. “Fair enough, if you’re not interested.”
Mycroft lightly snorted, the sound still managing to come off as sophisticated. “I never said I wasn’t interested.”
And brakes on.
“Sorry, what?”
Glancing up, Mycroft gave Greg a pointed look. “Do you honestly believe I would be entertaining this conversation if I had no interest in it? In you?”
Greg tried not to let his emerging smile become too giddy. Having confirmation that his attraction wasn’t just a one sided thing all this time felt amazing, though it was somewhat dampened by the conflict roiling beneath Mycroft’s composure. “Alright. Good to know.” Greg took a seat in one of the chairs in front of the desk and rested his forearms on his knees. “So talk to me then. What are you worried about?”
Mycroft’s fingers tightened around themselves, his brow and lips shifting into a troubled grimace. “It just would not work between us. We’re too different.”
“You don’t think you’re compatible with me?”
“I think I’m not compatible with a good portion of the general populace. You have much to offer in a relationship; anyone with functioning brain matter can see that. I, on the other hand, am… well, I hardly need explain,” he said with a vague wave of his hand. “Misanthropic, unsociable, insensitive; and that’s just the shortened list.”
There was a small and indefinable twinge in Greg’s chest at the casual self-deprecation in Mycroft’s tone. “You know, from personal experience, you aren’t nearly as much of a tosser as you seem to think you are.”
“Decent of you. Yet another example of your charitable nature.” Mycroft sighed, as though faced with an impasse that he could see no solution to. “It’s a simple matter to overlook those failings while we are acquaintances. As a romantic partner, you would surely come to resent me.” He looked at Greg then, his disquiet no longer just subtle. “I would rather at least have your friendship than gamble for more and lose everything.”
That tiny knot in Greg’s heart diffused into a bittersweet ache throughout his ribcage. He had never understood what he’d done to become a trusted associate of Mycroft’s, let alone to be counted as one of his friends. But he hadn’t realized until this moment just how highly he ranked in Mycroft’s esteem. It was an emotional seesaw to be heartened by that fact but alternately frustrated at his inability to say something, anything to erase the distress in Mycroft’s eyes. Even if he’d had the articulacy that he so desperately wanted right then, Greg didn't think he could persuade Mycroft out of his hopeless resignation.
At least, he didn’t think he could do it by talking.
“Look,” Greg said, raking a hand through his hair, “Do you mind if I try something? After, if you still feel the same way, then I won’t push about it anymore.” He shrugged, smiling reassuringly at Mycroft’s uncertainty. “No hard feelings, I swear.”
Mycroft hesitated only for a few seconds, a testament to the trust between them. When he nodded, Greg got to his feet and moved around the desk. Mycroft swiveled his chair to face Greg as he approached. He started to stand, but Greg’s hands landed on his shoulders and compelled him back down. Mycroft’s eyes narrowed in bewilderment and then went wide when Greg bent over him.
“What are you doing?” Mycroft asked, his voice not quite above a whisper.
“Like I said, testing things.” Greg reached out, the mere hint of his fingers running under that pale jawline. He tilted Mycroft’s chin up, further telegraphing his intentions by stroking his thumb across the bottom lip. Mycroft recoiled slightly and Greg stopped, watching him. “Okay?”
Mycroft swallowed hard. There was apprehension present, but also a stubborn sort of determination. He nodded again.
“Thanks,” Greg murmured, leaning in. He gave a precursory little kiss against the corner of Mycroft’s mouth, observing for any second or third thoughts. Then, he finally settled upon those deceptively thin lips. It was dizzying, that thrill of being so close. But it curdled into dismay in the face of Mycroft remaining stiff and unyielding against him. The discomfort soon became too much for Greg and he began to withdraw.
He’d barely broken contact when Mycroft abruptly followed after and reinitiated the kiss. Greg’s heartbeat stuttered, the change in Mycroft so sudden it was like a whiplash. That stone-like tension melted away, turning soft and insistent. Trembling hands trailed down Greg’s arms, the sensation so devastatingly light that he ached for more. He deepened the kiss, and Mycroft’s muffled, broken moan sent a sharp ripple of desire through his midsection.
Greg had never been more appreciative of Mycroft’s ridiculous oversized desk chair as he slipped onto his lap. He sank into the warmth, curved his hand along Mycroft’s nape, threaded his fingers through that meticulously styled hair. All the while Mycroft had anchored his arms around Greg’s waist as their mouths teased and moved together, more of those quiet, desperate sounds spilling forth.
Greg nearly groaned in frustration when he was forced to break off for air. But it was worth the interruption to see the results of his efforts. Mycroft’s eyes slowly blinked open, his dazed expression and kiss bruised lips still so enticing.
“Greg…” Mycroft breathed the word out, gazing up at Greg in wonder. Nothing could have prepared him for that look, for how his name transformed into something precious and rare when Mycroft said it in that voice roughened by want.
“God, Mycroft.” Greg kissed him once more, lowering his head to nuzzle against Mycroft’s neck. There was a faint mixed scent of cigarettes and spiced cologne, plus the unique trace of Mycroft himself interwoven throughout. Greg knew if he let himself, he’d easily become addicted to it. “How am I supposed to let you go now?”
A small, baffled kind of sigh shuddered through Mycroft’s body. Slowly, his hand made a tentative path up to the space between Greg’s shoulder blades. Greg understood and pressed closer. Mycroft exhaled again, the reaction more audible and slightly wobbly. As he tightened his hold around Greg, he murmured, “I’m rather hoping that you won’t.”
The warm relief that flash flooded through Greg nearly made him lightheaded. He pulled back just enough to be able to look into Mycroft’s eyes. “Yeah?” he asked, cupping Mycroft’s cheek. “You want me?”
“I’ve wanted you for years, you infuriating man. I just wasn’t brave enough act on it. I never imagined-“ Mycroft faltered, an uncharacteristic occurrence in his case. He closed his eyes, tipping his face further against Greg’s palm. “This is more than I allowed myself to hope for,” he said, looking shaken and raw in the wake of such simple intimacy.
“Me too.” Greg shifted forward, briefly touching his forehead to Mycroft’s. “I’m a bloody idiot. I should have gone after you ages ago.”
Mycroft reopened his eyes, gently shaking his head. “I’m not sure it would have worked if you had. I think we needed the time it took to get here.”
“We should make up for that lost time, then.” It was with some regret that Greg abandoned his perch atop Mycroft to stand, and judging from Mycroft’s small frown, he felt the same. But Greg just smiled, reaching down to take Mycroft’s hand. “So, dinner, Mr. Holmes?” he asked, comfortably intertwining their fingers together.
Mycroft’s discontentment morphed into understanding. He lifted his chin, and it seemed as though the restrained self-confidence that Greg happened to find oh so captivating rekindled inside of him. With a playful tilt of his eyebrows, he grasped Greg’s hand a little firmer and stood, smiling as well.
“Of course. That sounds lovely, Greg.”